


When It Burns

by DotColorful



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Father-Son Relationship, Graphic Description, Hurt, Injury, Major character death - Freeform, ROTJ, Violence, Whump, hurt/little comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:48:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27799483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DotColorful/pseuds/DotColorful
Summary: Luke is held in a cell on Endor, ready to be transported to the Death Star II.However, he gets a terrible vision before that happens - one that leaves him gravely injured.ROTJ-AU
Relationships: Luke Skywalker & Darth Vader, Obi-Wan Kenobi (mentioned) - Relationship, Sheev Palpatine & Darth Vader
Comments: 9
Kudos: 63





	When It Burns

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sorayume](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sorayume/gifts).



> This one-shot is a present for the AMAZING [Sorayume](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sorayume)! I hope that this bit of Luke whump cheers you up ;)
> 
> I'm also dedicating this work to Mango. 
> 
> Also, TW: This work contains Major Character Death

_At first, all he knew was fire. Bight, raging fire, so hot that all his thoughts were consumed in an instant. His flesh scorched as his body burned, encompassed by the flames licking at his dying figure._

_There was a voice above him - a voice he knew, though it sounded much younger than he'd remembered. He squinted his eyes, trying to look past the flames, trying to see the man above him. Immediately, the fire burned through his retinas, taking his sight, but it didn't matter - he'd managed to see the face of the man who had caused this._

_Obi-Wan Kenobi._

_He was screaming. Force, he was screaming so loud. There was anger in his words, but there was pain there as well._

_Pain and regret._

_"...chosen one…destroy…"_

_Those were the only words he heard; he didn't hear anything more._

_Suddenly, anger filled his mind - anger and passionate rage - and before he even realized, before he could even control himself, a shout was ripped from his throat:_

**_"I hate you!"_ **

_He didn't mean those words - he never hated Obi-Wan, those emotions weren't his. The pain was terrible, but it wasn't his as well. It didn't belong to him - nothing did. Everything - the fire, the hate, the agony - it wasn't his._

_And still, it hurt. It hurt so much._

_The fire grew greater, the pain grew stronger. He couldn't scream anymore - his throat was burned and so were his lips. His flesh was scorching, his brain - fried. He was dying, and there was nothing he could do, and it hurt so much,_ **_and it was all the Jedi's fault…!_ **

**"AGHHH!"**

Luke's body shot forward as he suddenly woke up. There was cold sweat running down his back; he was trembling in fear. Disoriented, his gaze searched around the space he was in, trying to understand what had happened. 

What was that thing? A vision? A nightmare?

It couldn’t be - it had felt so real. 

The pain he had felt - it had been real. He had really burned, had really felt what it is like to die, and it was agonizing, and he could still feel it--

He could still feel it. Even now. 

He was still in pain - his whole body hurt, but it was something different, something more specific, a spot right above his heart--

Abruptly, he brought his hands up to his chest, trying to stop the pain that had suddenly shot through him. He pressed his fingers against it, hard, and immediately hissed at the agony the touch brought him. 

This… this wasn’t just phantom pain, a residue effect of the nightmare. It was real - he could _feel_ that there was something underneath his shirt, something that felt like a burn. He was wounded - he was sure of it now - though he didn’t know how it could possibly happen. Still, it didn’t matter - he was in too much pain to think about where the injury had come from.

And where… where was he? 

A quick skim of his eyes around the room was all he needed to remember. He was in a cell - a holding cell, to be exact - one that was stationed on the Endor moon. He’d been brought here by the troopers, right after the conversation with his father, right after he’d been told that--

_It’s too late for me, son._

His father was taking him to the Emperor. Luke didn’t want to explore how he felt about that. He’d been waiting in the cell for hours, staring at the door and expecting the troopers to come back at any moment. They would take him to a shuttle, to his father; then, he would be transported to the Death Star.

And then… he was going to die. 

Waiting in the cell had been difficult; it was impossible to calm down after the confrontation with his father, impossible to accept what was to come. He remembered falling asleep eventually, his body curled against the grey metal wall. He’d been waiting in the cell for long, and yet nobody had come. He knew he needed to sleep - he needed strength if he was to face the Emperor. 

And then, the nightmare had happened. A nightmare, a vision - he wasn’t sure. It felt like a memory, though it wasn’t his, and with a horrifying realization Luke understood that there was only one person to whom this memory could belong to.

His father. 

He’d lived through-- he’d lived through his father’s nightmare. Was this why the man had to have his suit? Did Obi-Wan really leave his father to burn?

He felt sick at the very thought of what his father had lived through. The vision was horrifying - horrifying and painful, and to think that it had actually happened--

Again, pain shot through his chest. This time, he cried out, falling off the bench as his body spasmed. He curled up on himself, clutching at his chest. 

Something wasn’t right. He really felt as if his body was on fire, as if there were burns covering his skin. The pain was stronger and stronger, and although he could see no flames engulfing his form, he could feel his skin _scorching_ underneath his shirt…

“...father…” he whispered, desperate to make the pain stop. “...father...help…”

He didn’t want this - not after their conversation, not while their emotions were still fresh. But he couldn’t help it; his chest hurt so much he felt as if he was going to die. He knew nobody would hear him - the cell’s walls were too thick. And even if they did, would they really help him? He was a rebel, after all - and not any rebel at that. He was _Luke Skywalker_ and most Imperials wanted him dead.

No, they wouldn’t help him - and Luke knew that. There was only one person that could _possibly care,_ only one person that could stop this excruciating pain. 

“...father...”

This time, the cry that escaped him was louder, and the pain got stronger. His body was trembling from agony, and tears leaked from underneath his eyelids. He felt as if the wound was becoming bigger and bigger, burning through his flesh, scorching it and he could only cry-- 

With trembling fingers, he unzipped the upper part of his jacket, exposing his skin to the cool air. He couldn’t look down - his neck muscles were too weak to let him lift his head - so he brought his hand to his chest instead. 

Immediately, he jerked his arm back. 

It was raw flesh he had touched. 

The burns were real. Somehow, although he had snapped out of the vision, his body still seemed to be on fire, and Luke couldn’t understand why. Was it the will of the Force? Was the Force trying to show him what his father had lived through, to show him the pain he couldn’t have otherwise understood?

“...please…” he whispered, curling up upon himself. His eyes, clouded with pain, looked at his fingertips, covered in blood. “...I...under...stand…”

His body was not on fire, but it still burned. It was all raw flesh now, most of his skin scorched away. It was red, bloody, and covered in blisters, and all he could do was to lie down and wait for death. 

**_I hate you_** , his father had screamed, and now, Luke understood. Obi-wan… Obi-wan had done this to his father, and it was brutal, more brutal than Luke could ever imagine. How could Vader ever remain a Jedi if they had put him through so much pain?

For the first time in his life, he was ashamed that his saber shone green. 

But then, as his consciousness began to leave him, he heard a faint voice at the back of his head, _and he finally understood._

**Your death shall be your father’s undoing.**

It was the Emperor.

It was the Emperor who had uttered those words. 

It was the Emperor who was making Luke experience the pain. 

The vision was Sidious’ doing; though how he had implemented it in Luke’s head, he did not know. But he could feel it clearly now, could feel the Emperor’s hold on his mind, the way he was using the Force to manipulate it. The vision was his fault, and the burns were his fault too. He was killing him, using him to… make Vader loyal? Did that mean Palpatine knew Luke would not turn?

_Did that mean Vader would care about his son’s death?_

He would… he would never know. His body was too weak now - he was going to die. He wished he could speak to his father for one last time, to tell him how sorry he was…

His body spasmed from the pain, and then went completely still. He was just lying now; already half-dead, waiting for the other half to die. There were faint sounds coming from outside his cell - raised voices, angry demands. 

“...fa...ther…?” He whispered, his voice weak. Oh, how he hoped…

 **But no,** it was too late, he was already going--

The door swished open; his father stepped in. 

Excited, Luke inhaled a breath…

“ _Luke,_ ” he heard his father say. 

...and then exhaled it with a sigh. 

It was his last breath. 

There were no more to follow. 

***

_His son was dead._

Vader couldn’t accept it yet - he didn’t think he ever would - but he _knew_ it was the truth, that his son was…

...dead. 

And now he was in Palpatine’s Throne Room, kneeling before him as if nothing had happened. It was all quiet, all dark save for the dim light of the stars visible behind the viewport. Numbly, Vader forced himself to look up from his kneeled position, to stare right into Palpatine’s eyes. He knew it was dangerous - he had never challenged his Master like that - but he didn’t care anymore. He no longer felt alive. 

“Alas, my friend,” the Emperor said, fake pity in his voice. “I’m truly sorry that you had to watch your son… _pass away.”_

 ** _Pass away?_** \- Vader thought, enraged - **Watch your son pass away?!**

He hadn’t just seen his son _pass away._

Luke had looked like a slaughtered animal when Vader had entered his cell - a heap of raw flesh, blisters, and blood. He could still remember running to his son’s side, crying out in anguish as he gathered his scorched body into his arms. He hadn’t expected this, hadn’t felt any danger to his son; he’d only come to collect Luke from the cell and bring him to the shuttle…

But Luke was already dead when he had come, and he had died in the most painful way. There was agony etched on his features, though his face was bloodied and raw. His dark clothes had been burned away, only leaving pitiful patches of fabric here and there. The boy was curled in a heap but his muscles were relaxed, no longer controlled after his son had died. 

Vader could remember the way he had gathered Luke’s frail form into his arms, careful not to press against the burns too much. He had expected Luke to hiss, to somehow voice his pain…

...but he hadn’t. 

Because he was dead. 

_How had this happened,_ he had asked himself, again and again, pressing his precious boy against his chest. _Why did his son look like his body had been set on fire?_

He remembered his hands tightening around Luke’s body, pressing it against his own chest. He had reached with his fingers, trying to brush his son’s hair, but there was no hair to be brushed - it had been burned away. Still, he clutched at him, pressing his masked forehead to Luke’s bloodied skin. 

_No, no, no--_

_Come back--_

But Luke was utterly still, his body burned as if it had spent countless hours under Tatooine’s suns. 

And then, he had dropped the boy, as if he was no more than a hot stone, _because suddenly he couldn’t stand it anymore._

He couldn’t stand the burned flesh, the smell of scorched hair. He could almost feel the fires of Mustafar licking at his skin and _then his son was dead,_ and it was already too much--

It was Palpatine’s voice that brought him back to the present. 

“I regret that your son couldn’t be saved,” his Master said. Vader wanted to choke him for the false sweetness in his voice. “It is truly unfortunate that he had to die the same way Anakin Skywalker had.” 

Vader nodded. He didn’t really hear what the Emperor had said - he’d been only partly aware of his surroundings after his son’s death. Even when the medics had carried Luke’s body out of the cell, even when Sidious had called him to the throne room, and when he had kneeled - _and Palpatine had put a hand on his shoulder in a mockingly fatherly gesture_ \- he felt numb. 

“I know it is hard for you, my friend, but believe me when I say it will pass. Use your grief - let it feed your anger, let it consume you.”

Absently, he answered. “Yes, Master.” 

Palpatine was wrong - it could never pass. Not after this, not after he had held Luke’s dead weight in his arms…

Numbly, he stood up and headed for the turbolift. His limbs felt as if they were made of lead, even heavier than the grief in his heart. He couldn’t stand it, couldn’t stop thinking of the look on his son’s face. 

And his last words:

_Then my father is truly dead._

Slowly, he reached the stairs. He could feel Palpatine’s eyes on his back - could his Master see how devastated he was? How utterly overwhelmed by grief? 

_Then my father is truly dead…_

Vader did not want these to be the last words he had heard from his son. Desperately, he reached into the Force, wanting to hear more, wanting to understand why his son had died in such a horrible way. 

There was something, a faint echo of his son’s memories and thoughts before he died. He could feel his pain, could hear his desperate pleas…

_...father, help...I understand..._

Vader stopped as he suddenly sensed something else. There was darkness staining his son’s last memories, an echo of a voice that he knew all too well.

**Your death shall be your father’s undoing.**

It was the Emperor’s voice.

Those were the words he had spoken to Luke before he died. 

Time slowed, everything stopped. 

“ _You--_ ” he said quietly, what was left of his vocal cords frozen in horrific realization. His words were choked, quiet, unable to get past his clenched throat. _“_ You _killed him.”_

His back was still to Palpatine, but for some reason, he was not afraid of being attacked. He could feel his Master’s eyes trained on him, could feel a twinge of _displeasure_ in the Force. Slowly, still facing away from the Emperor, he repeated:

_“You killed my son.”_

Then, he turned around, half-expecting his Master to attack him. But Palpatine… simply stood there, unmoving. He had his hands clasped in front of him and the same expression of pity on his face. 

“Now, now, don’t make such accusations, my friend,” he said calmly, his lips stretching in an awful smile. “I understand that you’re grieving, but-”

“No,” Vader interrupted him. “ _You killed him._ You attacked him through the Force, you made him burn!”

His voice was full of rage, but still, he did not move. Attacking the Emperor was pointless, he knew he’d never win… But then, Palpatine had killed Luke. 

And Vader had not saved him. 

The least he could do was to avenge his death. 

With a roar, he jumped forward, igniting his lightsaber at the same time. He slashed at the Emperor, widely, not even knowing where his blade was, not paying any attention to what he was doing. Red painted his vision; he slashed again and again, until he had no strength in his arms left, until he could no longer breathe--

Then, he looked down, his lightsaber falling from his hand. 

The Emperor was dead. 

Vader stared at him for a moment, not yet understanding. He saw the limbs scattered across the floor, the wrinkled face… but it did not register. 

He frowned, taking a step forward. 

And then, with a cry of anguish, he fell to his knees. 

The Emperor… was dead, and Luke was dead too… 

And Obi-Wan, and Padme--

And his mother too, because everyone had died-- 

Sobs shook his entire frame, his skin wet underneath the mask. Oh Force, how could he ever let this happen, how could he ever fail to save all those whom he had loved…

Through tear-stained eyes, he looked at the Emperor’s remains with hatred, knowing that it was this man who had killed his son. He wanted to lash out again, to cut it into even smaller pieces, but he had no strength left, his grief overwhelming him completely. With a half-sob, half-sigh, he fell forward, hands against the floor.

He stayed like that for a very long time. 

***

The pyre burned brightly, bringing him unbidden memories of Qui-Gonn’s funeral. It was one of the first deaths he had ever seen, and he could still remember the smell of burned flesh as the Jedi stood around the pyre, saying their goodbyes. He couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if Qui-Gonn hadn’t died. Would he never turn, never kill his wife?

Would he not be staring at _his son’s pyre_ right now?

He had brought Luke’s body to the forest, not long after Palpatine’s death. He had carried his son, _his wounded, burned son_ in his arms, purposefully avoiding looking at his face. His movements had been almost mechanical as he gathered the wood and laid the frail body on the stack, as he set it on fire and watched it burn. 

Oh, how cruel it was to make a father watch his son’s funeral. 

The flames flickered, reflecting off his mask. He stood there in silence, never taking his eyes off Luke's pyre… but he was glad the fire had hidden the body from his view. He couldn’t look at his son, not without remembering that moment when he had first seen him dead, with his burned skin and the look of pain etched on his face. 

“Luke,” he whispered, hoping his son could hear him, wherever he was. “I’m…”

He hadn’t said it in a very long time; he didn’t know if he could say it now. But if there was a chance that Luke could hear him, he wanted the boy to know.

“I’m sorry.”

Relief washed over him as those words left his lips. It was cleansing, somehow, to say how he felt, and so more words followed. 

“I should have come, my son. I shouldn’t have let him--”

He stopped himself, realizing what he was doing. He _would not_ try to excuse himself, would not pretend like Luke’s death was not his fault. If only he had come with his son when they had first talked, if only he hadn’t had him taken away to his cell…

Again, he wanted to cry, but this time, no tears came. 

“I’m sorry, Luke,” he repeated, his voice filled with anguish. “You didn’t deserve this, and I’m so proud of you, and I’m so, so sorry--”

_“I know.”_

Sharply, Vader turned around, though he already knew who this was.

_“...Luke.”_

His son stood there, just a few meters away. His ghostly form shimmered with blue light, and bitterly, Vader realized that this wasn’t the Luke who had been covered in burns - this was the healthy, beautiful boy that had stood before him when they first talked. Though his form was partly translucent, he could still see the boy’s blue eyes and blond hair, so much like his own had been. And he was... _here,_ now, standing before him, and it was all Vader needed. 

“Father.” 

There was a sad smile on the boy’s lips and a look of empathy in his eyes. It felt wrong to look at his son’s face, to see the painful emotions etched on it… but Vader could not stop. His eyes roamed over the precious boy, still healthy and strong, not bearing the marks of the fire that had consumed him. 

“ _Luke,_ ” he repeated, reaching his son’s ghostly form in two big steps. “Luke, I’m so sorry--”

“I know,” his son said, not letting him finish. There was a sad smile on his face, and again, Vader felt guilt wash over him. He had let this happen-- 

“I know you’re sorry, father. I’m sorry too.”

Vader looked at him for a moment, not understanding. There was no anger, no reproach behind those words. There was simply acceptance radiating from his son - his son who now lowered his head, ghostly tears sliding down his cheeks. 

“I’m sorry we didn’t have more time,” the boy whispered, unable to look at his father. “I wish we could have talked, I wish I could have told you--”

“No, _no!_ Force, Luke, no!” Vader interrupted him, his terrible guilt fuelling his words. “How could you ever be sorry for what was not your fault?” 

Luke looked up at him through his tear-stained eyes. “...I didn’t mean… _this,_ Father,” he said, gesturing at the pyre where his own body was burning. “I meant… _you_. What had happened to _you_.” 

Vader knew what his son was talking about immediately, but he refused to acknowledge it. It was one thing to have been through what had happened on Mustafar - but completely another to know that Luke had experienced that same excruciating pain as well. 

Maybe he was wrong… maybe Luke was talking of something else. He frowned. “To me?” 

“I…” Luke said, hesitant, and Vader immediately realized that he had been right. “I know what happened, Father. Before I _died…_ I had a vision of… fire… and burning, a planet full of lava…

His son’s brow furrowed at the painful memory, and Vader wished he could press him against his chest and comfort him until that agonized expression disappeared from the boy’s face.. 

“I saw…” his son continued, searching for the right words. “I saw what happened to you, Father. How you became… _you_.” 

Vader looked at him for a moment, trying to push the images of his son burning on that _forsaken_ planet from his mind. But then, he realized he could not deny it any longer. 

“You saw Mustafar.”

Luke looked at him, confused - he had never heard the planet’s name before. And still, he seemed to understand. 

“...yeah, I think so. Yeah.” 

Rage shook Vader - rage, and helplessness upon realizing that his son had really experienced it; he couldn’t stop his growing horror of _what_ his son had to witness. Somehow, Palpatine had made Luke relive what his father had gone through, and the very thought made Vader sick. To know that his son had been in that pain, that he had felt the fire lick his skin away while Obi-Wan stood above him--

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. There was nothing left to say. “My son… I’m so sorry.” 

With a sudden, anguished moan, he leaned forward, trying to put his arms around Luke. It didn’t work - his hands went through his son’s body as if it was made of fog. Yet, it was the most he could do, and he gave it everything he had, desperate to express all his grief. 

“You should have never experienced this, my son, you should have never felt this pain--”

“But I have, Father,” his son told him. His own arms were wrapped around Vader’s back, also trying to imitate what would have been a hug. “And I’m glad I did - how could I have otherwise understood? I know what happened, and I understand it all now. I-- I just want you to know that I’m sorry. Not sorry because I could have changed it - I know I could not - but sorry for what had happened, that you had to go through this.” 

“Oh, my son,” Vader said, grief gripping his heart. “You don’t deserve all the pain I have caused you.” 

Luke didn’t respond. For a while, they simply stood there, their bodies entwined but unable to experience any physical contact. Vader wished he could press his son against his chest, to feel his warmth and his strong muscles underneath his hands, but it was impossible - his son was dead. And Luke… Luke clung to his father even stronger, trying to imagine that this was the hug he had always yearned for. He no longer tried to stop the tears that began falling down his cheeks - and neither did Vader. There was nothing left to say, nothing to do but to stand there and think about everything they could have been. 

Vader didn’t realize that Luke had disappeared at first. It was only after a few minutes - _or maybe it had been hours_ \- that he realized his arms were no longer surrounding his son's ghostly form. First came the panic; he couldn’t stand the thought of Luke leaving him alone, in a galaxy where he was a monster and deserved the death that his son had unjustly received. 

But then, he understood that this was for the best. His son had been born into a world that was too destroyed for his light to survive in it. In another life, _Anakin_ could have given him everything - family, love, _a mother._ But this was not another life - this was the galaxy that he himself had destroyed, and not a galaxy that his son deserved. 

But Luke was so strong - strong enough to become one with the Force. Vader knew his son would not be alone; the Jedi… and his family were there. 

And one day, when Vader’s time came, he would be reunited with his son once again. 

He stepped away, turning around, looking at Luke's burning pyre. The boy’s body was no longer there, now turned to ashes. The fire was now slowly dying too, flickering slightly each time the wind blew. Yet for the first time, Vader did not feel pain.

His son was going to be happy; he was never going to experience pain again. And once Vader became one with the Force…

...they would be _unstoppable_. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please check out [Sorayume](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sorayume)'s profile!


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